Rest and Recreation
by My Beautiful Ending
Summary: Clint and Natasha decide to take a trip to decompress after the aftermath of the battle. Now destined to be a multi-part story detailing their activities and emotions and how they heal.
1. How do you feel about Maine

"How do you feel about Maine? I like Maine."

"What's in Maine?"

"I don't know," Clint Barton said. "Let's find out."

"It's probably just a lot of lobster," Natasha Romanov said, eyeing him.

"I like lobster," he said, a corner of his mouth turning up as he tossed his car keys back and forth between his hands.

"You like all food," Natasha observed.

"True," Barton said.

"Okay," she finally agreed.

Director Fury had given the Avengers team as much time as they needed to recoup, however they wanted to do that. And since she and Clint were actually on SHIELD payroll, SHIELD was picking up the tab for however they wanted to relax after what was being called The Battle for Manhattan and the massive cleanup that followed.

The way Natasha recharged and recovered after major stress and trauma was by sleeping. Clint preferred to drive.

It was a win-win situation.

She got in his car and reclined the passenger seat all the way down, putting her ipod on a track that would give her some white noise, since she knew Clint preferred silence while driving. She set it on repeat and figured she had at least a couple hours before her ipod died. Ten minutes after he pulled out onto a highway, she was out.

She woke up at dusk. Clint was still driving. She knew he hadn't stopped yet, or she would have felt it and woken up.

Tilting her seat back upright, she asked, "Where are we?"

"No idea," Clint said.

When he drove to decompress and think things through, he usually got lost, but this looked a little more lost than usual. She glanced at him, and she knew he was doing that thing with his jaw, where he just worked it and worked it.

"Let it go, Clint," she said. "We got him."

"That's not what I'm thinking about," he said.

She eyed him.

"That stuff Loki got in your head about. I told him, didn't I?"

"We don't know that. And even if you did, it wasn't your fault," she said. He hadn't meant to. She had only told him about her past in the last year, and he had promised to never talk about it with anyone. And he took his promises seriously, which was why he was beating himself up over this.

He wasn't a man to beat himself up over much. Natasha decided to take it as a compliment.

"But I promised, Nat."

"I know. I forgive you."

"It's not just that. It's…" he trailed off.

"I told you not to do that," Natasha snapped. "It _wasn't you_."

"But it was," he said, meeting her eyes.

She knew… _knew_ what he was going through. The horror of not being in your own mind, of being controlled by another… and then waking up and realizing all that had been done by your body while your mind was somewhere else.

"I know," she whispered.

His right hand left the steering wheel to rest lightly on her knee.

If it had been anyone else, the hand would have been gone in two seconds, and it would be doubtful whether or not it would still be attached.

But this was Clint. And Clint was different. She put her own hand on top of his.

"Are we going to drive all night?" she said, after a few minutes.

"I like driving," Clint said.

"Yeah, well, I like peeing. So find me a rest stop before your car starts to smell, Hawkeye."

"You know, I could just pull over and let you –"

"Don't even go there, Barton." Her Widow's bite was back in her voice.

He laughed and squeezed her hand. "I saw a sign for a town up ahead."

"Good. And while you're at it, you can buy me a drink."

"SHIELD can buy you a drink."

"SHIELD isn't as personable as you."

"A compliment," he said, seeing the exit sign and going off down the ramp. "That's new."

"Hush, you."


	2. A Super Eight? Seriously?

**AN: in my head this was just a oneshot. Then I got so many reviews and favorites, and went to see the Avengers again. And the plot bunnies bit. So thanks for all the lovely reviews and favorites. This is probably going to turn into a short 6 part-er. Since i've got 5 parts already written. Just a heads up.**

* * *

"A Super Eight," she said. "Seriously."

"It was the first one I saw," Clint said, defending himself.

"I think, if SHIELD is footing the bill, I deserve at least a little more than a Super Eight Motel." Her disgruntled expression told all.

"Well, tell me what you had in mind," Clint said. "Though there might not be tons of options out here."

"Cushy."

"Cushy?" he repeated, glancing at her. "Okay. Cushy."

"Tall, no traffic noise, big pillows." She added, "And room service."

"A Hilton, then," Clint said.

"I'd settle for a Marriott," Natasha said.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said dryly.

* * *

They got rooms on the highest floor that wasn't for suites. One of the requirements that Clint had insisted on was that the rooms had to be connected. It made him feel better if he could hear and see her, know she was okay.

This was his clingy phase, though he'd never label it as such. He'd need to know she was all right, need to stick by her for a few days. She didn't mind. It was… comforting; reassuring to know he had her back.

She tossed her stuff onto her bed and immediately headed for the shower.

"I'm calling room service," Clint said. "What do you want?"

"Food," she said. "Really good food." She didn't have to say how much. She knew he'd order enough for an army, and whatever she couldn't eat he'd certainly take.

She didn't know how long she was in the shower, but she knew it was long enough –it was getting hard to breathe around the steam, and her fingers and toes were prune-y and red. And Clint was banging on the door, so there was that.

"Food's here, Nat. I put your bag outside the door."

"Thanks," she called.

When she walked out in a t-shirt and shorts, she brushed her wet hair out of her face and headed straight for the food.

He had taken off his jacket, and was loading up on food that took up three trays. "Steak, baked potatoes, and fajitas, not that easy to come by in Vermont, may I add," Clint said.

"Oh, is that where we are?" she asked.

"Plus fruit and fried okra," he finished. "If you want anything else, I can get it."

"Yum," she said.

They ate in silence, and did not turn on the television, or any other electronic devices. And when they slept, they left the doors between their rooms open.


	3. It's obvious

Sometimes, when she slept for too long, she'd dream. Not usually about battles or missions, but dreams that she wouldn't be really clear on when she woke up, but she'd have that tight ache in her throat of false hopes –of bitter disappointment. For years she had forgotten what it meant, but after SHIELD finally eradicated all of the brainwashing she had gone through, she had finally remembered.

She dreamed about crushed hopes and plus signs.

She remembered seeing the little pink sign on the test after she had been sick for a week.

She had been scared –really scared. She was still a spy, and she didn't know how her then-husband would take it. Alexei had never been the type to react well to things like this. It would change her life –both their lives.

But the doctor's news that, whether it had been a faulty test or a miscarriage, she wasn't pregnant now... had hurt. She hadn't known how much she had allowed herself to dwell on that hope –how much she wanted that possibility –until it was gone. Her throat and chest ached from the loss of something that had never been there to begin with.

She woke up now, with that bitter disappointment clamped in her chest and tears in her eyes.

Her uneven breathing must have tipped him off –honestly, didn't the man sleep at _all_? –because she heard him walk softly into her room and sit down on the edge of her bed.

"I'm okay," she whispered, hugging the extra pillow to her body. "Go back to sleep."

He didn't say anything, just rubbed her back until the fist around her heart unclenched and she lost the burning sensation in her throat.

Because he knew. And he understood.

She owed him a lot more than he'd ever know.

* * *

"Nat."

Natasha did not move. It was entirely too early for this. Given the choice, she would sleep forever. She'd have to speak to Clint about indulging his early bird tendencies a bit too early for her taste.

"C'mon, Nat."

He pulled one of her headphones out of her ears. She cracked open one eye to glare at him with. He looked disgustingly cheerful for… what was it? Eight thirty AM.

"I've got food," he said.

She yanked the covers over her head.

"Eggs and bacon, Nat."

The other eye slid open.

"Plus cinnamon rolls and monkey bread."

She slid out of bed and got up. "Don't touch my cinnamon rolls," she mumbled.

He grinned and handed her coffee, just how she liked it. "Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

Some things are just facts. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Tony Stark is a kajillionare. Clint loves Natasha.

It's simple. No big secret.

So when Loki asked for secrets –he could remember that weird conversation now –information about all the Avengers, anything that was little-known… Clint hadn't told him that.

Because it's obvious; to him at least.

Sometimes he loves the way his mind works.

Because he didn't give up the most important thing to the invader inside his head. He didn't give up what he feels for her, even though he told about her past. You can't change the past. The future is entirely different.

He didn't give up how much he cares because it's so clear to him that he loves this woman, and it's probably clear to everyone else except her. Or maybe it is. He can't ever really tell what she's thinking.

But he likes that.

He also likes the way she's a bear in the mornings when she doesn't have to work, and the way she'd probably take him out if he insinuated he wanted any of the food she designated as 'her share.' He likes her bluntly honest answers and her rare, wry smile. He likes the fact that she doesn't try to pretend to be someone she's not when she doesn't have to.

He appreciates the fact that she trusts him. In nature, Black Widows kill their mates. They must like the solitude. Or maybe they just don't like their mates.

But even though she can be a pretty solitary woman, Natasha Romanoff lets him in.

And that means more to him than she'll ever know.


	4. Lobster

**AN: this is probably the result of randomness, sugar, and too many gifs of Jeremy Renner stretching in Mission: Impossible 4. Which I want to see again. For the stretching. And also for his face.**  
** I'll hush now.**

"It smells like fish, Clint."

"Gee, wonder why."

"_Dead_ fish."

"Lemme see if they have any febreeze."

"Not funny."

"Well, what else can I do, Nat? It's the docks."

"I don't like fish."

"Nat, you tracked a guy through the sewer system of Boston once. You can't tell me this smells worse than that did."

"I was working, not smelling."

"Right. Well, I want fresh lobster."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

"Uh huh. So you can come, or you can go do your own thing for a bit. I don't care."

"I've got to be with you to keep you away from the female lobsters with the pinchy claws."

"…"

"You know I'm right."

"That was one time."

"Uh huh."

"Nat, I was in character."

"Right."

"Nat, _come on_. It's not like I was expecting that girl in Prague to pinch me."

"And you had to sit down right after that, too. How was that? I never asked."

"You know why you never asked."

"Her nails were pretty long, weren't they?"

"How did we get on this subject again?"

"You want lobster, for some inexpressible reason."

"Maybe I just like the color red, Nat. Ever think of that?"

**Yes I know lobsters are actually green until you cook them. That isn't important.**


	5. Movies

**AN:**** because I forgot I hadn't posted the rest of this, I'll give you two chapters at once and call it a story. Sorry for the wait.  
**

Natasha discovered the cable in their hotel had an old movie channel. So they finally turned on the television for the first time in three days. They both sat on her bed and watched Humphrey Bogart tell Ingrid Bergman "here's lookin' at you, kid," and laughed as Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn brought up "Baby," and watched Errol Flynn shoot his way through the King's men as Robin Hood.

"He's kind of like you," Natasha said absently.

"Yeah, except my targets don't have plates to stop the arrows," Clint said. "And I don't wear tights."

"Right. You sure about that? Because I heard Fury was making some uniform modifications…"

"Nuh uh. I don't do tights."

"We leave the tights to Steve."

"That's right."

"Because you wouldn't look good in them."

"Hey, I never said that."

She snorted.

Clint said, "Have you seen those incredibly campy films he was in in the 40's? Those propaganda shorts?"

"No, why?"

"We should watch them when we get back. They're hilarious. He 'socks old Adolph on the Jaw.'"

Natasha smiled. "I bet he did his own stunts."

"Probably."

It was the first time they had talked about going back. It seemed to be some sort of signal, a sign that they could go back… that they were able to go back. They were ready to face the world again. This 'vacation' had done its job.

After a few more minutes of watching Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland banter across the screen, Clint said, "They kind of act like us."

"Mmm. How so?"

"They snark, but they don't really mean it."

She snorted. "Oh, I think she meant it."

"But she still falls for him anyway."

"Hmph."

"It must be the bow and arrow."

"And not the tights?" Natasha said innocently.

"No, not the tights." He turned his head in time to catch her rare smile.

And then she sighed and let her head rest on his shoulder.

After a moment, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders as the film played in the background.

This vacation had done a lot more than either of them knew.


	6. Love

**AN: fluff and angst, that's what I should label this chapter as, short as it is. Oh well. I hope it's cute and a good ending. Please review and tell me what you think!**

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton have never told the other that they love them. They've never had to. They know.

When Natasha told Loki that "love was for children," she meant it. When most people talk about love, it's the fluffy gooey feelings that they get for another person. Somehow people to tell each other about that feeling. But sooner or later, that feeling passes.

That isn't what Natasha and Clint have.

They don't need to express their love verbally because they _show_ it. Love is, after all, a verb.

He shows it in the way he shoots a sniper through the eye that was about to mark her.

She shows it in the fact that she defends him in a board of inquiry after the Battle for Manhattan.

He makes her breakfast sometimes.

She decides not to kill him for waking her up.

He can tell by the set of her shoulders when she's stressed, or how upset she is by the child trafficking ring SHIELD uncovered.

She knows exactly how to get under his skin… and chooses not to.

They go to what Nat has coined 'mind rehab' together now, and she holds his hand, because for him, this is unfamiliar territory.

They can see the line, and they keep away, because they know the consequences of crossing it. But it's always there, in the back of their heads that once they decide the world is safe enough, once they are tired of being in danger every step of the way… that this could work out. That they could be more.

He thinks he wouldn't mind waking up to her every day.

She thinks she wouldn't mind seeing a little pink plus sign if it was his.

But for now, it is enough.

_THE END_


End file.
